


full of love and longing

by asael



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Fic, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: Ronan only uses his phone at the most inconvenient of times, like when he wants to send his boyfriend dirty texts in the middle of the workday.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a longer fic. 18,000 words and they haven't even kissed yet. I wrote this because it's killing me.
> 
> Title from the Tegan and Sara song 'Take Me Anywhere'.

It’s so like Ronan to decide to use his phone at the most inconvenient possible time.

 

They’ve been together long enough that Adam has gotten used to Ronan’s ways with technology - with communication, in particular. He’ll use his phone in an emergency, but the rest of the time it’s entirely left to whim. He can go months without sending a text, barely reading the ones received, and then within a week send Adam a flurry of messages.

 

It bothered him during college, the silence at first making him think Ronan was forgetting about him, or maybe just not thinking of him. But time together has settled that - Ronan was never anything but pleased to have Adam back during breaks, and he had an uncanny ability to know exactly when Adam _needed_ to hear from him, when he was desperately lonely or beating himself up over a difficult project or feeling lost. He’d call then, or sometimes text, or just send a stupid picture of Opal riding a cow, and Adam would feel better.

 

It ceased to be much of an issue once Adam finished school, once they really started living together at the Barns. Now Ronan’s inability to text properly is only frustrating when Adam wants him to pick something up from the store or when Gansey gets annoyed at the lack of communication and sends Adam plaintive messages about it.

 

Or, like now, when Ronan decides to be in one of his rare texting moods just when Adam needs to be able to focus.

 

He has a meeting with the board of the nonprofit he works at in ten minutes. He needs that time to gather his documents, get his proposal straight, clear his mind. This work isn’t easy, and getting more funding for his new program (meant to support homeless teens reentering school) is absolutely necessary. So he needs to focus, needs to know what to say.

 

What he does not need is to get fifteen texts from Ronan Lynch in the span of six minutes.

 

No. Not texts.

 

_Sexts._

 

And whoever introduced Ronan to the world of sexting really needs to think hard about what they’ve done, since he’s _good_ at it.

 

(Adam steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that it had in fact been him, on a particularly lonely night in his freshman year when he’d missed Ronan’s hands on his skin more than he could say.)

 

His phone chimes again. He tries to ignore it, flipping through his papers to find the right one, adding it to the stack in front of him. He does not need to read Ronan’s text. It will undoubtedly be dirty, undoubtedly be distracting, and undoubtedly be something he can’t do anything about.

 

Even after the meeting, he’ll need to finish a few things up before he can go home. Any chance of acting on these awful, unpleasant, unwelcome, incredibly hot texts won’t come for a couple hours. Ronan is torturing him, because Ronan is an asshole.

 

He breaks. One quick glance at his phone, that’s all.

 

_then im gonna wrap my hand around your dick and make you beg for more_

 

Goddamnit. He shouldn’t have looked.

 

There is no way Adam can go into a meeting flushed and thinking about Ronan in his most intense moments, when all his attention is focused on Adam and nothing else. That will not end well.

 

The phone chimes again. With an immense effort of will, Adam does not look at it this time. See, he has self control. He isn’t going to give in to this game Ronan is playing.

 

A glance at the clock tells him it’s time. He pushes all thought of Ronan out of his head - easier said than done, but anyway, he tries - and heads in.

 

After the meeting - which goes very well, all things considered - he picks up his phone to find seven more texts.

 

_shoulda blew you before you went to work ive been thinking about it all day_

 

_you get this look on your face when im sucking you off_

 

It devolves (improves?) from there. Adam reads them all, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing it’ll leave him flushed and half-hard with at least an hour left of work ahead of him.

 

It does.

 

His last hour of work is hell.

 

Adam breaks the speed limit quite handily getting home, though after so long with Ronan that isn’t nearly as rare as he’d like it to be. His car, dreamed up by Ronan after weeks of debate and argument, seems to reflect police radar, which is both alarming and reassuring. He makes it home in record time.

 

Opal is out in the yard when he gets home, and she gallops to him as he gets out of the car, demanding a hug. He gives it gladly, kisses her forehead, and asks her where Ronan is.

 

“Storage barn by the pond,” she says with a careless shrug.

 

“Give us a little time, all right?” Adam says, and Opal seems to see no reason not to agree - or maybe just no reason to care what they do. It’s always a little hard to tell.

 

She heads back to whatever she’d been doing before - plucking mysterious fruit off one of the trees, apparently - and Adam heads for the barn.

 

‘Storage barn’ is maybe a poor description. It’s one of many structures dotted around the property, some housing animals, some tools, and some a strange collection of dream objects. Adam knows exactly which one she meant, though - it’s the one Ronan has taken to using for his projects recently, strange and artistic creations that are half-dream and half-handcrafted, sometimes useful and sometimes dangerous and sometimes just odd.

 

All of that’s rather beside the point right now.

 

Adam pushes the door closed behind him, purposeful steps taking him deeper into the shadowed recesses of the barn.

 

“Ronan?” he says.

 

He hears movement from deeper within. Rounding a stall, he finds Ronan, a collection of tools and objects spread around him, in the middle of some kind of creation. But awake, at least, and that’s good. Adam is not particularly in the mood to wait.

 

Ronan straightens to a standing position, grinning as Adam approaches, sharp and a little smug. “Hey, you’re home.”

 

“You asshole,” Adam says, and he shoves Ronan back against the wall behind him and kisses him hard.

 

Ronan makes a pleased sound against Adam’s lips and wastes no time, tangling his fingers in Adam’s hair and kissing him back with gleeful abandon and no little hunger. Adam loses himself in the sensation, as intense as it is every time, sending thrills through his body. Years down the line and he still hasn’t gotten enough of Ronan’s kisses.

 

Ronan lets Adam press him against the wall, lets him turn their kisses more passionate as Adam tries to work out the frustration of the last couple hours. It doesn’t work - if anything, he only wants more. But then, that’s how it always is with Ronan. 

 

They’ve slid into a domestic routine, an easy family life, and Adam is aware that for a lot of people that means wanting each other less. He doesn’t understand it, though. This was something that, for so long, he never dreamed of having. Now that he has it, why would it make him want Ronan any less?

 

Instead, it just lights a fire within him to see Ronan every day, to wake up next to him. It makes him warm and content and happy, but it makes him want Ronan, too. It’s rare for too long to go without one of them reaching for the other, without a stolen blowjob out behind the cattle barn, Ronan’s hands sliding inside Adam’s sweats while he makes breakfast, a long night spent together with very little sleep.

 

Or, apparently, dirty texts in the middle of the workday.

 

Adam breaks their kiss, though he doesn’t pull away, still pressed close against Ronan, the shared heat of their bodies encouraging them both.

 

“I was _working_ ,” Adam says, and slides his leg between Ronan’s, feeling Ronan half-hard against his thigh. At least he has that - Ronan’s stupid texts got him worked up, too.

 

“Figured you needed a good distraction,” Ronan says. He snakes an arm around Adam’s waist, holding him there, and leans in to steal another kiss. Adam lets him, knowing well that he shouldn’t encourage this behavior but unable to resist.

 

“I really didn’t,” Adam says, trying to ignore the breathlessness of his voice after that kiss.

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, not at all remorseful. “What are you gonna do about it?”

 

That doesn’t deserve an answer - at least, not a verbal one. Instead, Adam pulls away enough to unhook Ronan’s belt and unfasten his jeans, movements fluid but more hurried than anything else. He pushes down Ronan’s jeans and underwear and sinks to his knees, taking Ronan into his mouth.

 

He hears the sharp inhale of Ronan’s breath, and Ronan’s hands settle in his hair again, tugging more or less gently.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ronan says, head falling back. “Really got you all worked up, huh?”

 

Adam does not grace that with a response, having far more important things to do with his mouth. Ronan was half-hard before, is completely hard now, and Adam licks a stripe up the underside of his cock before wrapping his lips around the head and his hand around the base.

 

He always likes this. He likes everything they do, but he likes the slow eroding of Ronan’s control as the pleasure builds particularly, and he likes knowing that he’s the reason for that. Adam is used to being wanted now, but for so long he wasn’t, and every moment of proof that Ronan wants him is still precious.

 

Also, it’s really hot.

 

The shadowy corner of the barn fills with the obscene sounds of Adam’s mouth on Ronan’s cock and Ronan’s groans of pleasure. Ronan’s fingers pull at his hair, urging him on, his hips moving up into Adam’s mouth.

 

“Fuck, Adam, I was gonna blow you,” Ronan says, voice rough and shaky. Adam vaguely remembers something like that from the texts. That sounds nice too - Ronan’s good at it - but he considers for a moment. His own erection is pressing uncomfortably into his pants, and while he could take care of it himself, he could let Ronan come in his mouth and jerk himself off, that doesn’t seem entirely fair. Not after Ronan torturing him all afternoon.

 

He runs his tongue around the head of Ronan’s cock one last time, then lets it fall from his mouth, looking up at Ronan from his position on his knees.

 

“No,” Adam said, “you’re gonna fuck me instead.”

 

Ronan swears again, low and vehement, and drops to his knees. Then Ronan’s hands are on Adam, unzipping his pants and slipping inside, rough palm wrapping around his cock. Adam groans and catches hold of Ronan’s shoulders, balancing himself.

 

“Yeah? You want me to?” Ronan says, a sharp, hungry gleam in his eyes, his hand stroking Adam until Adam can barely think.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Adam says, and bucks against Ronan’s hand. Then it’s a flurry of movement, Adam’s pants coming off and Ronan’s jeans following, a scramble to retrieve lube out of the pocket of discarded pants, Ronan pressing Adam down against the barn floor, the warm weight of his body between Adam’s legs.

 

Probably later Adam will regret this, when his back is sore and he’s washing the dust out of his button-down work shirt, but right now there’s nothing else in the world he wants than Ronan above him. Ronan slips one hand under his thigh, spreading his legs apart, encouraging him to lift his hips, and Adam does. Then Ronan’s fingers, slick with lube, are pressing against his entrance.

 

Neither of them can stand wasting any time, not right now. Their preparation is hurried, and Adam will probably regret _that_ later too, when he’s sore, but he has no desire to slow down. Ronan watches him, eyes steady on Adam’s face while his fingers work inside him, until Adam’s breath catches and he moves against Ronan’s hand, wanting more.

 

“Come on,” Adam says, his own voice rough and needy now, the edges of his accent bleeding through.

 

Ronan doesn’t need any more encouragement. He slides his fingers out and moves, arms hooking under Adam’s legs. Then he enters Adam in one long movement and Adam thinks he’s going to fall apart right then. He cries out, letting his head fall back as he tries to catch his breath, but it’s a losing battle. Who could possibly catch their breath while Ronan is inside them?

 

Especially once Ronan starts moving. Adam gives in, letting himself fall into the rhythm of it, the slide of Ronan’s cock inside him, the sensation of fullness. The hot burst of pleasure whenever Ronan hits the right spot. The look on Ronan’s face while he loses himself in the movement, in pleasure, in fucking Adam.

 

There’s no one to hear, so Adam - usually quiet - lets himself moan, lets himself whisper dirty things and ask Ronan for more and cry out when it’s almost too much. Distantly, he thinks maybe he should do that more often, because Ronan’s thrusts grow harder and his grip on Adam tighter, needier, more. He loves that, he loves Ronan losing control, he loves the edge of roughness that came from that no matter how careful Ronan is with him.

 

He catches his breath, collecting his thoughts enough to say, “I want you to come inside me.” He wants to see Ronan come, wants to watch him lose himself within Adam, wants nothing more than that right now.

 

Ronan stills for a brief moment, then fucks Adam with renewed hunger, with fervor, fingers digging into Adam’s skin with enough force that Adam will find fingertip-shaped bruises on his thighs later that night and wonder where they came from before remembering in a burst of faint embarrassment and far less faint amusement. Right now, though, he doesn’t even notice, only able to focus on Ronan’s cock inside him, Ronan’s eyes on him.

 

Adam loses himself in the pleasure of it, in the way Ronan looks when he’s coming apart. The vulnerability and bareness of it, something no one else has ever seen, something that’s all Adam’s. Ronan’s hips jerk as he comes, his breathless moan of Adam’s name the one thing Adam wants to hear.

 

Adam barely needs to touch himself, not after that, not with every sense of his body alert to Ronan, every molecule of his on edge. He’s there already, he probably wouldn’t need anything else, but he palms himself anyway and then he’s coming too, the wave of his orgasm as intense as anything he’s felt, his ragged breaths filling the air around them.

 

He feels hazy, happy, stupidly in love, the way he always feels when they’re together like this. Ronan is infuriating and impossible and everything he wants, and Adam never wants to forget that.

 

Ronan lays on him, catching his breath, until Adam decides he’s too heavy. Then he elbows Ronan until Ronan slides out of him and rolls off and onto the barn floor, until Adam can turn over to press against him, stealing some of his warmth. Ronan always seems to be warm.

 

He reaches out, running his fingers along the sharp line of Ronan’s jaw, turning his face toward Adam so they can kiss. It’s long and slow and lazy, and when they break apart Ronan is smiling.

 

“What I’m getting from this is that I should send you that shit more often,” he murmurs. 

 

Adam rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite summon a sharp tone. “You’re still an asshole,” he says, though it sounds more like a term of endearment than anything else.

 

“You love it,” Ronan says, and he tugs Adam close to kiss his lips and then his neck, sloppy affectionate kisses, and Adam can say nothing to deny it.


End file.
